He knew it, and it pained him. Thus, when he had reached a point where he no longer had to play a part in the games of that gaudy industry town, he dealt himself out of them.

Newman's early reputation was built on his looks and a certain proximity to the method style of acting that saw him through several early hits. They included Somebody Up There Likes Me, The Left-Handed Gun, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and The Hustler. But while they gave the public what it wanted, they gave Newman nothing other than the emptiness of movie stardom.

Like his contemporary Steve McQueen, Paul Newman essentially played a variation on his own character for the first 20 years of his career. By his own admission, he only started to become interesting as a performer when he was past 50. At that point he had segued from leading man to character actor. And was it perhaps only accidental that this gear change coincided with partnerships with directors such as John Huston, Robert Altman and Sidney Lumet?

It's a funny thing, but it has happened with Clint Eastwood, too: a late blooming that has seen him stepping away from that established persona. As he nudges 80, Eastwood has revealed himself to be a powerful actor – a far cry from his status as a mere movie star.

Newman's career was built on a foundation of rebels and outsiders. It's accepted that, despite six Academy Award nominations as best actor, he won in 1987 (for repeating his role as 'Fast' Eddie Felson from The Hustler in Martin Scorsese's The Color of Money) only because he should have won years before and therefore deserved it.

There were other, earlier, nominations – for Hud, Cool Hand Luke, Absence of Malice and The Verdict to name only a few – and two later ones for Nobody's Fool and Sam Mendes's Road to Perdition, the latter his final on-screen appearance.

In Mendes's film, Newman radiated menace and power as grizzled, growling mobster John Rooney, a murderous old man who kills on a whim. It was a sensational performance from an actor who, at 77, was getting better and better as he aged.

Then, suddenly, Newman dropped out. He'd had enough. He'd done his bit and had paid his dues, with interest. There were a few more little bits and pieces, mainly for TV, but Newman as a movie star was finished.

Anyone who knew him told the same tale: Newman loved cars. Acting and the movies was just a job that paid the way. Even his $100m philanthropy began as a joke and spiralled out of control. He thought it was funny.

Paul Newman played Hollywood at its own game and treated it with healthy disrespect. He rarely watched his own films, shrugged off the Oscars and lived far away from the machinations of Tinseltown.

Asked why, in his mid-70s, he continued to act, he replied: "A fella's got to be some place. I might as well do what it is that I know."

And that's as good a credo as any.